


Daydreaming

by hope_savaria



Series: Beautiful Trauma [3]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Claude Becker (mentioned), Danny Ocean (mentioned) - Freeform, F/F, Flashbacks, Guilt/Shame, Hopeful Ending, Internal Monologue, Memories, Minor Violence, POV Debbie, Pining, Pre-Canon, Prison, Smut in flashback form, Solitary Confinement, Songfic, Tammy (mentioned), mention of suicide, stab wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 10:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20080525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_savaria/pseuds/hope_savaria
Summary: "How long did it take you to figure all this out?""Five years, eight months, and twelve days..."Debbie knows exactly how many steps she takes from her cell to the showers, from the showers to the cafeteria, from the cafeteria to the yard, from yard to the gym.Everything is quantified, calculated, and managed to ensure she doesn't start thinking. She has been in prison for almost a year, and it's a comfort to know that she can make it through another five like this, as long as nothing gets in her way...**TBH I'm not sure if the content *really* warrants a Graphic Depictions of Violence warning, but I put it on there just in case. Just to be clear, it's a very brief scene.**





	Daydreaming

**Author's Note:**

> P!nk: Beautiful Trauma  
(2017)  
Track 2 - Revenge
> 
> ...
> 
> I'm daydreaming  
Let me count the ways (let me count the ways)  
How I'll get you (get you) or how I'll make you pay  
Babe, I'm hurtin' (hurtin')  
And now you'll feel the same  
That's my plan (that's my plan)  
That's my plan  
That's my plan
> 
> ...
> 
> (Spring 2013)

Debbie knew exactly how many steps she took from her cell to the showers, from the showers to the cafeteria, from the cafeteria to the yard, from yard to the gym. It was the same every day, and every night she fell asleep at exactly the same time and slept like a rock, ignoring the bright fluorescents and cacophony of noise that never ceased. She only talked enough to seem polite. She only ate the food from people that Danny told her she could trust. She clutched the books from Tammy to her chest as she slept, though she never opened them. The prospect of starting a book meant she would _finish _the book, and then there would be nothing to look forward to. Debbie counted everything: her steps, the tiles in the showers, the guards, the number of times she swung her fists into the punching bags in the gym. Everything was quantified, calculated, and managed to ensure she didn’t start _thinking_. She had been here for almost a year, and it was a comfort to know that she could make it another five like this, as long as nothing got in her way.

She knew other people thought she was strange – strange but not threatening, which was how she wanted to be. That seemed like the most useful prison persona one could have. She ran through French verb conjugations in her mind every time her thoughts started to wander, and once she had finished with all the French verbs she knew, she switched to Spanish, and then to German, and then to Arabic, and finally back to French. Debbie – the mastermind, the co-maintainer (with Danny, of course) of the formidable Ocean paradigm – became a ghost. She slunk through the shadows, never got in anyone’s way, never picked a fight. She gradually became invisible…or so she thought. In her preoccupations about verbs (_Was it _really _worth running over the simple perfect tense in French? No one ever used that shit._), Debbie had failed to notice the guards’ stares and mutters. Becoming a ghost – it turned out – meant that other people thought you might throw in the towel, and the guards looked out for that. The point of prison was to be miserable for your full sentence, after all, not to take matters into your own hands. Unfortunately, where the guards looked, other people looked, too. Debbie, her head filled with numbers and verbs, didn’t notice.

A security camera broke in one of the showers – Debbie heard a guard mention that a mouse had chewed the wiring, and it didn’t take more than an hour for Debbie to figure out which camera it was. For three days, there would be a spot where no one could see her, and it felt like a vacation. She never considered the fact that anyone else might have overheard, too. For the first time in a year, Debbie straightened her back completely under the lukewarm spray of the shower. With her eyes closed, she felt like herself again – felt like the Debbie Ocean who plotted and schemed and stole perfume, the Debbie Ocean who would have seen the inevitability of Claude’s betrayal and prepared for it, the Debbie Ocean who spent her nights wrapped up in Lou. _Lou_. Debbie kept her hands clutching her thighs, but she imagined Lou’s fingers trailing down her sides and Lou’s lips latched to the top of her shoulder. She imagined the aroused amazement on Lou’s face when her fingers slid lower and sank between Debbie’s legs – always so pleased by the responsiveness of Debbie’s body. It had been more than five years since she had seen her, and yet – for a fleeting moment – the sensations were as present and real as the water beating down on her shoulders. 

Debbie didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until it was too late. A hand covered her mouth, and she felt a jagged blade catch on her skin, sliding down the side of her left breast and between her ribs. Her mind lingered on Lou, and the pain didn’t hit her until her knees connected with the hard tile floor. She turned her head and saw the foggy outline of someone leaving the showers, someone Danny had told her to avoid. _Sorry, Danny. Too late now_. The blood flowed dark and slow into the water around her, and Debbie knew the woman had missed her mark – probably by a fraction of an inch, but _still_…Debbie knew a fatal wound when she saw one, and this wasn’t it. It was almost disappointing, she thought, as she tugged her orange jumpsuit towards her and pressed it over the wound. Not that she wanted to die (she didn’t), but it was a disappointment somehow to know that she wasn’t even facing a worthy adversary. Debbie didn’t bother screaming; she knew someone would find her. The last thing she remembered before she blacked out was the sound of heavy, splashing footsteps across the tile and the feel of Lou’s breath on her lips just before…

**

Debbie was still lying on the clammy tiles when she came to, looking up into the concerned face of a nurse she recognized. The woman’s eyes were fixed on Debbie’s left side, and Debbie saw she was pressing a large piece of gauze over the wound. She was still naked and damp, but someone had turned off the shower and tucked towels around most of her body, which was shivering violently due to the cold tile and the blood loss. The wound burned like fire, and her knees ached where they had collided with the floor. Debbie wondered how long she had been here.

“She didn’t hit an artery,” the nurse muttered to someone else in the vicinity who Debbie couldn’t see. “Probably didn’t know where it was.” There was a murmuring of conversation in response to the nurse’s words. “She needs stitches and bedrest. We can assess more once she’s recovered from the shock.” Minutes later – though it felt like hours to Debbie – she felt herself lifted onto a stretcher. The rocking motion lulled her to sleep once more, and she found nothing but blankness behind her eyelids.

When she awoke again, she was lying on a bed that was much softer than the one in her cell. Her skin was dry now, though her hair was still damp against the sides of her face, so it couldn’t have been too long since they moved her. Her side ached dully, and she was dimly aware that she must have been given some sort of painkiller, because there was no way stab wounds felt better that quickly. The ceiling above her was plain – nothing to count up there except the occasional stain. She turned her head slowly and found herself looking at a computer screen, blandly reporting her vital signs, which looked stable.

“Good,” a voice said nearby. Debbie swiveled her head towards it and saw the same nurse from earlier walking into the room. “You’re awake.”

Debbie blinked at her. “What…happened?” It was a stupid question – she _knew_ what had happened, but the pain killers were making her feel woozy and slow.

“Twenty-five stitches, and you’ll have a nasty scar,” the nurse replied in a business-like tone.

Debbie shrugged. _Could be worse. _

“We’ll keep you here for a couple days, and then you’ll be moved to solitary for a few weeks. That’s standard procedure.”

Despite the clouds in her brain, Debbie found a flaw in that logic. “Standard procedure for…what?” she mumbled.

The nurse rolled her eyes. “Suicide attempts,” she said harshly, eyebrows raised as if she were daring Debbie to contradict her.

Debbie closed her eyes to prevent the nurse from seeing her equally exasperated eyeroll. _God_, these people were idiots. Hadn’t they even bothered to assess the scene of the crime? It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that Debbie hadn’t had a knife when she entered the showers, that someone else followed her in there, that someone like Debbie _Ocean_ would have been far more efficient and precise. _A few weeks in solitary_…well, that would mix things up. At least she would have four new walls to memorize and a lot more quiet-time. Debbie decided not to say anything, to let them think she had tried to kill herself. It wasn’t like she could give them a name of who stabbed her anyway – Danny hadn’t given her names, only warnings and vague descriptions. Oh, yes – it was better this way. She needed solitude.

**

They gave her a new jumpsuit when she was released from the infirmary – some small gesture of goodwill, she supposed. Everyone seemed to think she was “making good progress,” even her prison-assigned therapist who insisted on hearing her _talk_, which was only bearable because she made everything up. It was refreshing to work a mark again, and it certainly improved her mood to watch him believe the tales she wove. The solitary cells were a good distance away from her previous cell block, but she was pleased that some kindhearted guard had taken it upon themselves to move her things into the small chamber. The books from Tammy were stacked next to the bed alongside a new toothbrush and her mail, which consisted of a very boring letter (also from Tammy) and a postcard that she knew was from Danny, though it wasn’t signed. It showed a photograph of the real version of the painting she had supposedly forged and sold – the reason she was here. _So, Danny, you figured it out_, she thought, surprised that it had taken him this long. There was nothing from Lou, except for a vague hint from Tammy that she was back in New York and living in Brooklyn. Debbie had a sinking feeling that Tammy wasn’t telling her something, but there was nothing to do about it from here, so Debbie put it from her mind.

Debbie flopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, counting the dots in the cork-board panels. They were randomly placed, and she soon lost count, which gave her an excuse to start over from the beginning. The activity became boring far too quickly. She rolled off the bed, spent thirty minutes alternating between sit-ups and push-ups, and then climbed back onto the bed. She ignored the burning of the healing wound in her side and looked back at the dots. They shifted and blurred before her eyes, morphing into Danny’s face as she had seen it the day after she was arrested – disappointed, sad, and much older than she remembered. They both knew she should have been smart enough to prevent Claude from framing her. But she hadn’t caught on, had let herself believe that Claude was just another misogynistic asshole. Claude _was _a misogynistic asshole, Danny had reminded her through the glass at the jail, but he was also cunning as a snake, and that’s what Debbie had missed. Still, Danny hadn’t criticized her; instead, he had insisted it was a mistake that anyone could make, which only made her feel worse because she knew he was lying.

For the first time in a year, Debbie succumbed to the self-loathing daydreams bouncing around in her head. She thought of the years with Claude, remembering the way she had found his schemes so elegant and simple (the way she had found _him_ so elegant and simple). She remembered her attraction to him with a wave of nausea. She remembered all the things he said to her, all the _terrible, awful _things that some part of her wanted to believe were true: that her feelings for women (for _Lou_) had been a mere blip, that being with a man (with _Claude_) could make all of that go away. She saw herself pretending to be happy, even to herself – playing her favorite records, taking care of herself on the outside and falling apart within. She saw herself spiraling towards the day he had asked her to sign the papers that had landed her in this cell. Not for the first time, Debbie wondered what she had seen in him in the first place. Oh, she hated him. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and tried to push his smirking face out of her mind for good.

It was her own fault for…well, not for trusting _him_, because she hadn’t…but for trusting herself to get out in time if things went sideways? Yeah, that was on her. There was no getting around that. He had bragged to her about the people he had framed, told her exactly what he was going to do to her without her being any the wiser, and she had fallen for his sly pretty-boy act. The whole thing was enough to make her want to peel the skin from her body, to cut away all the places he had touched her, which was _everywhere_. She felt unclean, tainted. It was disgustingly cliché.

Days passed, and Debbie struggled to push Claude out of her head. She was grateful for her solitary cell – a place to hide her tears of shame and the sound of her grinding teeth. She thought about contacting Danny to burn down his gallery, to steal his assets, to frame his _ass_ for something, _anything_. Every half-hearted plan fizzled and died as images of Claude’s smirk and Danny’s disappointed sadness looked down at her from the collections of dots on the cork-board ceiling tiles. She found mercy from her own brain only in uninterrupted hours of dreamless sleep and in set after set of push-ups, which ached less and less as her stab wound healed and her muscles hardened. More than anything, Debbie wished she could stop herself from walking into Claude’s gallery two and a half years ago, wished she had just stayed with Danny and his crew even though they never really took her seriously, wished that…Debbie screwed her eyes shut as her mind finally settled on a different face – a face with bright blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, framed in platinum blonde hair. She wished that Lou had never left.

Debbie sat straight up in bed and looked at the eggshell-colored cinderblocks across from her. _Lou_. A shiver passed through Debbie’s entire body as she thought of her, and her pulse quickened. Claude was nothing to her, and she didn’t need Danny’s judgement. She needed Lou…no, that wasn’t quite right…She _wanted _Lou. Everything Debbie felt for her – held at bay for years by Debbie’s determination to distract herself – rushed back with the speed and completeness of a tsunami. The little moments of craving Lou over the years were nothing compared to this. This was all consuming: it raised goosebumps on her arms, and caused sweat to bead along her hairline. _Oh. _It didn’t matter if Debbie didn’t have a plan for when she got out – she had plenty of time to make one over the next five years. It didn’t matter that Claude still lurked in the shadows of her mind – she would figure out what to do about him (_to _him) later. It didn’t matter if she finally ran a job to rival one of Danny’s – she _would_, but that wasn’t the point. The only thing that mattered was _Lou_…

**

_“What’s your _dream_ job, honey?” Lou asked. Her head rested on Debbie’s stomach and her finger traced delicately around Debbie’s right nipple. Debbie looked down at her and ran her fingers through Lou’s hair, catching a few snarls from where it had tangled against the pillows earlier when she had thrown her head back. _

_Debbie hummed a laugh, mind whirring through ideas. She loved this moment right after completing a job when the possibilities stretched into infinity before her. “Something to do with fashion or show business,” she answered finally, “Danny would never think of that.”_

_Lou smiled and lifted herself just enough to plant a pattern of kisses over Debbie’s hip. Debbie gasped when Lou’s mouth brushed the sensitive skin at the crease of her thigh. “I could see it,” Lou said, looking up at Debbie as her tongue flicked against her hip bone. “You in an evening gown that I wouldn’t be allowed to rip off later.” _

_“You would have to be _careful_, baby,” Debbie teased, fingers intertwining with Lou’s where they lay over her ribs. “Think you could do that?”_

_“Depends on what I got in return,” Lou replied with a smirk that Debbie felt against skin that already glistened with arousal. She knew Lou could smell her, taste her. _

_“Oh, you could have…” Debbie groaned as Lou slipped two fingers inside her. “…anything you wanted.” _

_Lou licked and sucked over Debbie as she increased the pace of her thrusts and added a finger. Debbie relished the stretch and found her hold on their conversation slipping. “What’s…” She cut herself off with a moan, and Lou smirked. “What’s…_your_ dream job, baby?” Debbie gasped at last, gripping Lou’s fingers tighter every time Lou curled her tongue around her. _

_“Not sure,” Lou murmured, matter-of-factly, as if she and Debbie were peacefully drinking tea instead of well into their second hour of fucking, still high on the adrenaline of a job well done. “Maybe I’d steal the Eiffel Tower.” _

_“Seems awfully phallic for you,” Debbie said through a moan, arching her back under Lou’s persistent tongue. _

_Lou laughed, and the sound vibrated through Debbie like lightning, sending her rapidly towards the edge. “It would be for _you_,” Lou said between brief, sharp kisses that wound Debbie even tighter. _

_"_Fuck_, Lou,” Debbie said, trying desperately to keep her eyes open and fixed on the sight between her legs. Lou flicked her eyes up to Debbie’s and raised her eyebrows as if daring Debbie to try to continue speaking. Not one to back down from a challenge, Debbie opened her mouth, but the only sound that came out was a whimper as Lou thrust deep and sucked hard at the same time, sending Debbie over the edge, quivering in Lou’s arms. _

**

_Well_, Debbie thought, opening her eyes and registering the wetness between her legs brought on by the unexpected memory of eleven years before, _that’s a place to start: fashion and show business and an evening gown…and _Lou_, of course. Of _course, _Lou. _Debbie smiled and lay down on her side, facing the wall. She squeezed her thighs together to relieve the edge of her arousal, realizing that this was the first time since Lou had left that she didn’t feel guilty or sad or conflicted about being turned-on. _Five years to plan_, Debbie thought, _five years. _She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her mind drift back to memories of Lou. _Five years is too easy_, she teased herself with a smirk, _I’ll do it in two, and I’ll run it a thousand times, and by the time I get out – by the time I find Lou – well, there won’t be anything or anyone that can stop us._

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the song (with *all* the lyrics): 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqGWKILKHbo
> 
> ***
> 
> Full disclosure: this is BY FAR my least favorite song on this album, and I really didn't use much of the content other than the chorus. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Series Note: 
> 
> There will be 13 fics in this series, so please please subscribe to the series (rather than to the individual fics). I am posting the stories chronologically as they fall in Debbie and Lou's timeline, rather than in the track order from the album. New ones will be posted every Friday. There will be pre-canon, movie timeline, and post-canon stuff, and it all fits in with my Loubbie headcanon from my other [non-AU] pieces. I can ONE HUNDRED PERCENT PROMISE that the series will end happily. 
> 
> ***
> 
> SHOUT OUT TO MY PARTNER, go_get_your_top_hat! SHE IS THE LOU TO MY DEB, THE BEST BETA EVER, AND SO MUCH MORE. <3 ADFIJWFOWJQFPEWOJQF (I've had a stressful few weeks, and she has been THE BESTEST okay).
> 
> ***
> 
> As always, I love love love hearing what you think! Please comment; don't be shy. :) <3


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